LENA
The moon was still low when I slipped out of bed, its pale light just beginning to stretch across the hardwood floors like silver threads. The room was too quiet without him — too wide, too cold. I could still smell him in the sheets, leather and pine and warmth, but it wasn't enough. Not tonight.
Dom was gone.
Hunting.
Searching for her.
Even though I'd told him to go — even though I meant it — my skin itched with unease. Every shadow felt heavier. Every creak in the old house felt too loud. Something in my chest coiled tighter with each passing minute.
I turned on my side, pulled the comforter tighter around me, and buried my face into the pillow he'd used. His scent clung to it. That grounding, wild scent made my pulse settle, my bones loosen. When he was here, even if we didn't touch, I felt steady. Protected. Like nothing in the world could touch me.
But now?
Now, I felt raw.
